Chance Intersections
by chrysalis escapist
Summary: about the choices we make and where they might lead, Mac&Stella, with cameos of others. Now three chapters, yes, I'm a bit random ...
1. Wherever it may lead

**Disclaimer: none of the ****CSI characters belong to me**

**This is going to be a two shot, so don't worry about my other stories :) **

Chance Intersections – Wherever it may lead

He had pressed the button before he could think about it. Of course, this was what he always had. Coffee, black, two sugars.

_It's what we do._

But maybe, just once, he should have something else. Stella might have had tea.

_We are there for each other._

If she were here.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

His feet take him down the corridor, again. Towards an empty room. Force of habit. Force of habit that may also drive a serial.

He leaves the building. Which way should he go? He remembers an old game. Step towards the curb. Hit it with your left foot first, turn left. He imagines Stella still doing it. She's never been predictable.

Except for that day when she had come to find him. Not knowing that he was just the bait.

He looks left, he looks right. The same grey pavement either way. Does it make a difference which way he goes? He wishes he could split himself up and go both ways, just to see the outcome. Before he chooses. He wishes he could rewind, go back, make a different choice. But which moment should he go back to, which choice was the wrong one?

It could even be that he always has coffee, black, two sugars. That he's so predictable.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He runs his hands over the wood. Once alive, gathering sunlight, offering shade. Gathering raindrops to shower people with after the rain. Leaves sparkling in the breeze like Stella's eyes.

Cut down. Cut into boards of a given length. Treated, smoothed, polished. It feels far too smooth for the occasion. Fixed into an oblong cuboid. Fixed, unable to make any more choices.

Silky white cushions. A bizarre comfort for the dead, because the living cannot appreciate it. But it is the living who need it.

He doesn't remember which choice brought him here. Was it even his own?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Another tree, a live one. Casting shadows throughout the year. Why do people always plant yews in a cemetery? He wanders from shadow to shadow, stands still at one grave. His eyes burn with fatigue and sorrow. He can't read the name on the headstone, but he knows it anyway.

Footsteps crunch towards him, slowly. A hand reaches out, but doesn't touch him.

"We will find him, we will _get _him, and then …" the voice fades, not really knowing what will happen then.

"How did you know where to find me?"

The silence continues. Mac looks from the marble stone to Danny. He sees concern etched into the younger CSI's face.

"I … didn't. I just came here … and you were there. I came here because" Danny points to the grave, "she was my friend." He ends with a shrug, looking at Mac.

The one who would have known where to find him remains to be found.

* * *

All thoughts and comments are welcome, appreciated and replied to.


	2. Follow your heart

**Thanks for the reviews and/or putting this on alert****.**

**And thanks to my father**** who one day said that maybe I could change my life just by drinking cappuccino instead of coffee …**

**I am aware that a certain scene in here reflects one in Blue Shadowdancer****'s Fragments (which you have to read!). I tried to make it work without but I couldn't. Sorry about that!**

Chance Intersections – Follow your heart

One week. And counting. Chances counting down.

Seven days. Equal number of nights. Equal number of attempts to go 'home' and find rest.

168 hours. How many coffees? How many phone calls?

10,080 minutes. More breaths.

604,800 seconds. More heartbeats.

And it adds up.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Coffee. He closes his eyes. He shakes his hand in the air, lets his fingers do a syrtaki. Presses a button. He opens his eyes. Coffee, black, two sugars. He sighs. It must be in his body.

"Hey." An earthy voice breaks through his reverie.

He holds out the coffee to Hawkes, "You want that?"

"Why?" the other man asks, "Isn't it what you always have?"

"Yeah. But I thought maybe that is the problem."

Hawkes studies Mac's features. He knows the man feels responsible, guilty. And he knows there's nothing he can say to change that.

"What would you rather have?"

Mac sighs again. "I don't know. Anything … anything that …" he swirls the black liquid in the white cup as if he could blend them.

_Anything that could bring Stella back._

He becomes aware of Hawkes holding out a cup to him.

"That's what Stella had last time I saw her." he says.

They exchange the cups.

_Connect._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He steps through the doors. Seven steps to the curb. Left foot. He turns left, walks on until he reaches the corner.

Three choices. Four, counting the subway entrance. He closes his eyes. He feels the earth rumble. Stella in anger-mode. A half-forgotten smile blows past him.

Which line to take, and which direction? The color of hope, the color of her eyes. From alpha to omega. The beginning.

Rattling, swooshing in and out of darkness. The line stretches out before him, seemingly straight. A series of dots marking his choices. Every one of them leading on to so many more.

He closes his eyes, locks out the other passengers. A scent brushes past him. Almost like Stella's perfume. He follows it, up out into the air where it loses itself.

He looks around. A hearse crawls down the street. He takes the opposite direction.

Another corner. Voices on his right, speaking Greek. He turns towards them, follows them. Along and along. Follows the language that has become his heart's.

But where does it lead him? What is he doing here? Hunting down memories, dreams? Further into the labyrinth, or out of it? He stands still.

He remembers. Stella coming through the door first. Scanning the room, hastening towards him. He couldn't warn her. Before anybody else made it into the room she had been snatched away.

A door next to him crashes open. A man rushes past him. Instinctively Mac swirls around. The man storms down the street. Knocks over living obstacles who Mac blurts excuses at.

They tumble down. The man starts to fight but changes his mind when he feels Mac's gun pressing into the back of his head. Mac twists him around. A gasp escapes them.

"You?"

The man lies still, not even blinking, just staring at Mac.

"Where is she?"

No answer. Just pure contempt shooting from the man's eyes.

"WHERE – IS – SHE?" With every word Mac shakes the man, makes him hit the grey concrete.

"What do you think?" the voice oozes with derision.

The speaker is left cuffed to the next best signpost. Mac flies back to the door. It crashes open again.

"Stella!" No reply. "STELLA!"

Just silence. He follows the lack of sounds, the lack of light.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A shadow swinging, curls hanging around her face. Eyes closed.

He has her in his arms, supports her. Cuts the strings.

She slumps against him. They sink to the ground. Shaking.

He runs his fingers through her curls, tilts her head. He makes a choice he suddenly knows is right.

He tastes salt on her cheeks, on her lips. White gold. Sea breeze. Her breathing becomes calmer. She leans into him. His breathing becomes calmer.

* * *

All thoughts and comments are welcome, appreciated and replied to.


	3. It can't be wrong

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I loved getting them. Also thanks to **_**autumngold, **_**sorry I couldn't send a proper reply.**

**Yes, I know I said this would be a two shot. But somehow I wasn't entirely happy with it and felt that Stella deserved more,**** and also that Mac's last choice should lead somewhere, so here is another chapter.**

Chance Intersections – It can't be wrong

Mac frowns when he sees Stella standing in the door. Not that he's not happy to see her. But.

"You should take a rest. And see a doctor."

Stella shakes her head. "I'm taking it easy, okay? And we have a doctor in the house."

Mac's frown deepens. He knows why she's wearing a scarf, and he can't help seeing Sid pointing out cause of death.

"Hawkes gave me a complete check-up, so don't worry." she gives him an encouraging smile.

But it fades, seeing the concern in his eyes.

"Mac. I know what happened; I know how close it was. I remember it clearly." she sinks back into memories of the past days, "I remember how he taunted me. Every day, all the time. Telling me that he'd kill me, telling me that he had killed you." She swallows. "I remember … how the strings were tightening. And …"

The scarf feels too close to her neck. She loosens it a little._ The throbbing of my blood in my head, and how I couldn't really think …_

"Good." He sees the emotions playing across her features. "I mean, not good … that you remember, but good that … that you _can._ I mean …"

She lets her fingers tip against his arm. "I know, I know. It's okay." A little smile lifts the corners of her mouth. "I also remember the relief when I heard your voice." … _and the taste of your lips on mine. _"How … how did you know where to find me?"

He's not sure how to answer that. "Tell you over a cup of coffee?"

He wants to get out of the lab. He wants her to get out of the lab. For a while.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They step outside the building. For a moment Mac stands still, remembering. Which way should they go? There are plenty of coffee-shops either way. He looks at Stella, standing on his right, looking back at him with an inquiring smile. Taking her arm he turns in that direction.

They stroll down the street in silence. He has time again to look at the things around him. The color of the leaves beginning to change, fading from the green of her eyes, is no longer a menacing reminder of the passage of time.

She's at his side, and the colors of the leaves become a firework. She's at his side to lead the way with small gestures. A subconscious connection of knowing which coffee-shop he'd like best.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A little surprised she watches him study the menu.

"Uh, no. I wouldn't take that if I were you." she interrupts his thoughts.

"How do you know what I was thinking of taking?" he wonders. _What could be wrong with a coffee with the name 'Star-shine'?_

"I don't think you'd like it, it's very sweet."

_You know this place well. And you know what line of the menu I was looking at._ "So, what would you recommend?" he asks with a soft smile.

She points at another coffee on his menu from behind it, her eyes not leaving his, proving his theory. His smile deepens.

"'Home-glow' … with cardamom. Interesting …"

_Want to try it?_

He nods._ I'd trust your judgment any time._

She smiles and lets her hand glide down alongside the menu, coming to a standstill on his hand. Neither pulls away. Their gaze is only interrupted by the waitress taking their order.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So, now tell me. What did I miss?" Stella asks after taking a sip of the comforting liquid.

She has moved to sit in the chair next to him. And he tells her, tells her everything because he knows that he can. How worried he had been, how they couldn't find any leads and he had almost given up hope, how he had wandered the city thinking of her; how relieved he had been when he had found her, alive.

"You've left something out."

"What?"

In reply she bends forward and kisses him._ This._

She can feel his lips curving into a smile. _I was getting to that._

_Good._

* * *

Thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you liked it. Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. All comments are appreciated, and all logged reviews replied to.


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